Dirty Work
by Brunette
Summary: True it can be told, in Tortuga at least, that a whore's never so bad off as her customer.


_Author's Note: Seriously, how many Giselle fics are out there, anyway? And she's one of my favorite characters in the whole thing, next to Jack, of course ... and Gibbs ... and Ragetti and Jacoby ... and Norrington ... and Cotton's parot ... Anyway, she's up there._

_Disclaimer: (insert clever way to say I don't own it)_

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**Dirty Work**

They say it's a dirty business, whoring. The kind only the lowliest, most desperate strumpets would stoop to. I suppose it is awful dirty, but I ain't the most desperate. Not by far. Because I've met the most desperate, the lowliest, and I've known them at their worst. True it can be told, in Tortuga at least, that a whore's never so bad off as her customer.

He had dark eyes. But not dark like other folks's. They were near black, and warm in a ... well, odd as it sounds, in a cold sorta way. The first time I saw them eyes, they was glazed over from rum, and a good lot of it. It was his eyes that drew me. Despite his devilish little smirk that was draggin' rather lazily, and the way his false teeth glinted in the dim candlight, I could see there was more to him than the average scallywag. To most it don't matter what kind 'a man you spend the night with, long as he pays right by you. But I say a man with a soul you can see in his eyes is sure to be some manner of decency, drinkin' in Tortuga or no. Some 'a the best men are in Tortuga. They're just broke and unfortunate, and you can't be spiting a man for his luck.

I sat down next to him. He hardly noticed, but I touched his hand and he had to look at me. There's some folks you just can't right seduce with the usual charms -- the fluttering eyelashes, the knowing little smile or suggesting phrases. He was one 'a those folks. I could see, from the second he turned those eyes on me, that there was to be no foolin' him, stoned or no. He was the kind to be thinking even when he was drunk.

"I don't be wantin' company tonight, maid." 'Tis funny the things a man will say when he's most lonely. He took another drink, and looked away from me. 'Twas serious, he was, but stubborn I am.

"You been sittin' alone too long," I told him quietly, and the look those eyes gave me was hard and near threatenin'.

"Then perhaps you ought to deduct I'm doin' so on purpose."

He swayed a bit, even as he was sittin', and I could see he'd just come off of sea. The world still rocked to and fro for him; I guess we whores and pirates got that in common.

" 'Tis no good for a man," I chided lightly, running a hand up his arm that he did not protest, though did not respond to. "Sittin' all alone to his thoughts, he's likely to explode."

He turned his head right around to face me, and I saw amidst his hair and matted locks he had a handsome mug on him, he did. You see all kinds at Tortuga. And I saw a man who musta been a gentleman once, 'least I like to believe so. He had good cheekbones -- the sort a woman would envy after for herself -- and the teeth that were his were in good condition and straight. You can't be tellin' me he was born in a gutter of an unplanned breedin'. There was a sadness in that beautiful face that made me right sad meself, and I was sure to show me sympathies in me eyes.

"Darling, if I thought you were the cure, I'd be taking you."

I had to smile a bit at that. He was right philosophical he was.

"It don't take bein' better to feel better, lovey."

He picked up his chipped stein again, and gulped down what was left of it. The rush gave him a spin of dizziness, and he blinked with wide eyes a few times to bring him back to himself. He looked over at me again, and kinda lowered one brow while raisin' the other, which made him look incredulous, which mighta been his point in doin' it.

"Do you know who I am?" He moved his hands like no man I've ever seen. I figure half his blood's alcohol, but you can't blame a man for his bad luck.

I shook my head, shrugging and looking right sympathetic, 'cause I'm often in a position to, and quite good at it, if I do say so meself.

"No mate," I told him. 'Scusin' me, but I couldn't resist meself. The job'll do it: "But we can get to know each other right and cozy, if you be desirin' it."

He laughed. He took hold of his stein so as to be drinking again, but was quite disappointed a bit to late to be reminded he had downed it once already. With a shrug, he looked about him at the hustle and bustle of the tavern, and then back at me in ... a kind 'a surrender almost.

"You'll be findin' me a fruitless conquest, love," he informed me, putting a hand on me shoulder and pushing gentle -- ushering us out, you see. "I got not but loose change in me pocket."

But by this time, I must confess, this shadowy gent had right intrigued me. I got a job like no other, mate. I know folks deeper 'n no others, 'cepting their wives, if'n they take to one. It's dirty work and ne'er easy, but you can't spite me. If I was so dismal as you about it, I'da wrapped a blouse about me neck and pulled it tight. So I looked at this fella who was different in ways I still can't put a finger on, and I wanted to know him. Or at least pretend I do. When it comes to gents, only the mattress and the grave never lie. Anyway, you're sure to find somethin' about intriguin' characters, when you take to 'em. And he was by far interestin'.

I slid out of my chair, and turned to be sure he was doing the like. He stumbled out of his seat and took hold 'a me shoulder again. He was the sort 'a man who needed something to keep him on his feet, and whatever it was before musta been gone then. It's odd the things I taken the place of. But he leaned in as he held tight to me shoulder, and brought his pretty-formed lips to me ear and whispered louder than he thought he was:

"Name's Cap'n Jack Sparrow, love."

I tilted me head at him, and gave him a right devilish little smile. "I've heard of him."

He wrapped his arm across the whole length 'a me shoulders now, and was leaning harder than I think he realized. We started out of the place, him steppin' like he was fit to waltz and me just tryin to guess the next place he'd land his foot. He stepped on me toes more than once, but I laughed, and I guess the funny sound 'a my voice and the rum swishin' in his belly made him laugh, too. He laughed so hard for no reason far as I can tell, 'cause he was speakin' 'a dark things:

"I be a cheated man, I am, love ..."

"You can call me Giselle if you'd rather."

"Giselle?" his tongue tripped over the sounds, but he managed it alright. "I say, I've been cheated as no man has!"

"Ah, cap'n," I sympathized, " 'tis a hard life, it is."

"Mutiny!" he shouted, and it seemed to have come to his mind out of nowhere in particular. "Mutinied and marooned! And I'll be tellin' you one thing ... who were you again?"

"Giselle," I reminded gently. To be sure, Jack Sparrow wasn't the first drunkard to forget me name in a matter of minutes.

"Aye. I'll be tellin' you one thing, love, that bastard will be facin' the Devil at me bidding, he will ..."

I stopped, and he tried to keep walking, which nearly toppled us both. We was laughing again, but there was something strained in his voice. A deal 'a rum can bring out the truth in a man, and usually the ugliest. His hold on me loosened, and he traded me shoulders for the side 'a the whorehouse, and vomited a good lot. I've seen more vomit than him, and many more after to be sure, but I looked away. In a few phrases he'd confessed he'd had his honor stripped, and I ain't be the kind to add to a man's shame by watchin' him wretch. I touched his shoulder when he was quite done, and he looked at me with those dark eyes again, now red on the edges and wet. He snorted kinda dryly, and I smiled 'cause I wasn't sure what else to do.

He looked at me for a long time before a long, slow smile began to spread across his face. He shoved off 'a the side 'a the whorehouse and took to me again, leaning hard and staring into me face from about an inch away. He reached with a hand that didn't seem quite connected to his arm, and patted me hair gently, turning his eyes to it with interest.

"This your real hair?"

If he was talkin' about the color, which most do, then I often find it's nothin' for him to be diggin' into. But I laughed and took one of those ratty ropes 'a hair in my hand and returned with twice his ease:

"Is this _yours?"_

Jack was laughing again, but lower this time. More like a chuckle, I s'pose. And then, afore I even knew it (and I've got enough experience to be keeping a track on these things), he had his tongue halfway down me throat with more force than I had strength to match for the moment. It took longer than I expected to stop him with a little giggle, and guide him into the whorehouse. He was fall-down drunk, but I'd be lyin' to say the man didn't know a thing or two about kissin' a dame. I couldn't quite recall the last time I'd felt so green at me own job.

I saw Jack Sparrow, times after. I saw him laughin' and drunk and happy about himself, and for me the good cap'n lost his mystery. I saw him chase other whores and even call upon yours truly more times than one, and he was always worth his trouble. But he was never the way he was the first time I saw him. Quiet and cold and hot. That look weren't never in his eyes for me to see again. And I felt a kinda happy sadness in me, knowin' I'd seen something 'a Jack Sparrow no one else had. You learn an awful lot about a man when he's at his lowest.

I saw a good man who was broke and couldn't work quite right. And I always kinda wondered what broke him in the first place.


End file.
